Restless
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: The tops of her shoulders are tense, muscles throbbing with the knowledge that weighs her down. It's nothing. It's not nothing. Post The Human Factor and a little bit beyond.
1. Oncoming storm

**A/N:** I have had two very weird images stuck in my head for days and this is sort of a post epi/my images mushed together.

* * *

_"Let your plans be as dark and impenetrable as night,_

_and when you move, __fall like a thunderbolt."_

* * *

_It's nothing._

The phrase is on repeat in her head, on a loop, it doesn't help. She tells herself over and over again and she does follow him to the shower, but she takes her time. Dropping her clothing on the floor, kicking off her shoes and rolling the balls of her feet in circles listening to the joints pop and click in release. She joins him slowly, unintentionally leaving it almost to the last minute before she's pushing on the sliding door to get it moving.

_It's nothing._

Her wine is untouched at the foot of his bed and she's not really sure when it started but her head aches, _aches_ so intensely that she almost forgoes the shower altogether and just collapses on his bed. The tops of her shoulders are tense, muscles throbbing with the knowledge that weighs her down.

_It's nothing._

It's not nothing.

She's not sure how she got here, how _they _ got here. It was only few weeks ago she was clinging to him, heart racing, just grateful to be alive. Now she's wondering if he cares, if he notices her.

If. Just if, all the time if.

And after five years she knows, knows in a way that tears at her chest, makes her feel bitchy, like a selfish immature child, that should be giving him more credit, having more faith, that time and again he has proven how he feels. But there is a doubt.

A little doubt.

And it's _nagging_.

_Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies_ has been their modus operandi lately, sweeping things under the rug, letting things go. Sidestepping and sitting down with wine, a smile and a tumble into bed, but it's not working for them anymore.

When she does do it, works up the courage and asks, he deflects. Or, worse yet, he asks and she...she does_ lie._ She hates that she lies to him, to his face, to the echo of his voice as he leaves the room, to herself.

_It's nothing._

It's not nothing.

Pinpricks of heat press like savage needles at the backs of her eyes, a heavy tingling ripples down the side of her face and a numbness spreads to the edge of her lips. A migraine or a tension headache, stress. Something, all of it pressing at her so that she sighs heavily, the pain throbbing through her skull so thickly she can feel it in the roots of her teeth, in the follicles of her hair. Kate casts aside the last of her clothes, shoulders rolling seeking relief, and she steps towards him.

He's rinsing his hair and the soap bubbles slide down the muscle of his neck and merge together, hitting that crease at the top of his spine and riding down his back in one long wave. It's the most inviting image she's been confronted with in a while, calm and peaceful, relaxing and familiar. Even though her head pounds she knows that if she lets the tips of her fingers chase those bubbles she will feel a little better, but she's not sure she deserves it.

_It's nothing._

It's not nothing.

The shower door slides and hits its counterpart, bouncing back, the glass protesting at the force she uses, like it always does, and he turns with an expectant smile. It falls away quickly when he sees her face, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Kate?"

The worry in his voice hurts her, head to toe, the throb lingers over her body.

Warm wet fingers wrap around her elbow and draw her towards him, into the billowing steam and under the spray, his thumb sweeping the inside of her arm and trailing down to her wrist. He gathers her hand in his and tugs her in fully, closing the door after her.

"Headache." She mumbles and his bottom lip drops, an almost pout of sympathy, but his concern is too much. Too much, because if he knew the reason for her headache, for her inability to talk or sip the wine and tease him back when he flirts with her - she can't finish the thought, can't meet eyes in case he sees - it would crush him.

_It's nothing._

It's not nothing.

Kate steps around his body and faces away from him, her hands landing on the cold white tile in front of her. She tips her head so that her hair falls in front of her face, hiding her, and the water pounds against the back of her neck.

It helps.

It takes her by surprise, and is exactly what she expects all at once, when his lips feather a path through the water and land on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her muscles. Just right, right over the base of her neck up into her hairline. The pads of his thumbs press in hard and perfect, soothing circles, the long thick digits of his fingers surging and massaging through her scalp.

She groans long and low, closes her eyes and tries to hide from the shadows settling over her. But it's like an oncoming storm, the dark grey clouds are gathering and when it falls, whatever fate this is that's toying with her, it will fall like thunder, strike at them like lightning. And as much a she tells herself it's nothing, it's _not_ nothing.

His fingers soothe the tension in her shoulders, slip down her arms following a ripple of water and one hand slowly gathers her to him, weaving around her stomach to draw her back into his chest. She goes, turning her face into his neck when his lips land at her temple. The droplets of water that land on their faces are enough to hide the tears when they gather in her eyes, enough to hide it when they start to fall.

She's drenched to the skin, to the deepest reaches, to her soul, and the storm is still coming. She lets the water wash the last of the tears from her face before she turns in his arms and wraps herself in him.

The storm is coming, she just hopes that _together_ they're strong enough to weather it.


	2. Restless

**A/N:** Someone said (on twitter I think) that they are like two sides of a coin, two halves of puzzle pieces, they hold the solutions to the others problems in the palm of their hands _if only_ they would talk. I kinda love that idea...Thank you for reading the weird images that smooshed their way into my brain! Finale approaches, feels everywhere, group hugs and hand holds, see you on the other side!

* * *

He watches her sleep.

Leaning as far across the pillow as he can, his eyes linger over the contours of her face, the rapid flutter of her eyelashes and the roll of her upper body as she contorts in dreams. She sighs, lets out a breath that pushes through her lips, puffing them out, and drops back rolling further away from him.

He tries not to read into that, that she's moving away from him in sleep, it's her subconscious, that's all. But a small part of him finds it hurts and he can't help but reach for her, the tip of one finger touching the ends of her hair.

He blinks through it, tries to anyway, and focuses on her face. She's flat on the pillow next to him and for the most part she looks peaceful now, but she keeps tossing and turning, kicking aside the covers, groaning and sliding against the sheets. She's restless and tonight isn't the first night he's noticed it.

His jaw aches from clenching and grinding his teeth, from wondering and worrying his way through what has happened, what's changed. Why the smile doesn't meet her eyes as readily as it used to.

He wants to just wrap her in his arms, one under her head and across her chest, the other round her waist, pulling her into him. He wants to hold her tight to the wall of his chest and sleep, sleep it all away. But she's _restless_.

Her feet kick out and she moans, her face scrunches, worry warps her slumber into something stressful, something that takes its toll and makes her roll away from him yet again.

He's missing something.

He knows she wants more, wants more from_ him_ and he's been hiding from it. Stepping back when she brings it up because they've been so good. So good just working through it slowly, taking little steps and wading ankle deep.

It's the whole diving in head first part that he has a problem with.

It's not her, it's him?

That sounds too easy and he knows he's missing something.

As cliched and stupid as that sounds, it's not because he has walls, that is most definitely a _Kate_ thing, it's more because he's been down this path before and locked that part of himself away. The part of him that wants to get down on one knee and shower her in confetti is there, it's just tied up way down deep, locked up where it won't get hurt or rejected.

So maybe he has a dungeon or a bunker where that part of himself is held prisoner, little eyes poking out in the darkness. It's where the part of him that hopes for a happily ever after sits and looks at her longingly.

He doesn't know how to tell her that, that for all his talk of fate and the universe and love stories that burn brighter than the sun, he's a big coward. How does he explain that he's terrified of messing up again, of not being enough, that love stories are much easier to create on paper than they are to live out in the real world. How does he explain that he doesn't feel capable of facing these parts of himself in daylight, let alone sharing them with her.

What if he's not enough?

It's nothing and something and it's all hidden away in the way her eyes don't meet his when he asks her things, in the cheerful fake laugh that he hates even as it leaves his lips and he shies away from her questions, changing the subject.

She's not only restless in sleep, but here in the darkness with his eyes burning into her like he can see inside, find the problem and fix it all on his own, here where he still feels useless and unknowing and on the outside staring in, here at least he can do_ something_.

He pulls the blanket up, tucks the sheet at her back and smooths his fingers down her arm, watching as she sighs and her weight settles heavily into the mattress. He helps her find some kind of peace in sleep, even as his mind rambles through the obstacles he chooses to ignore in daylight.

Thunder rumbles outside his window, low and ominous, but here in the pitchblack of his bedroom with his fingers shadowing her own, he can let the darkness in, let the worry and fear seep inside and not care if it shows on his face.

He doesn't have to worry about her catching a glimpse of it, of her seeing him and the parts he doesn't like, the things he lacks, and backing away from him.

Because she's restless and not just in sleep. She has questions. Questions he wishes desperately to answer.

_Where are we going?_

He doesn't know, he just hopes they can get there together.


End file.
